Boarding School Survivors
by Simahoyo
Summary: Mara's assistant enlists her to help her grandmother open up about her Indian boarding school abuse Maura uncovers some old emotions she thought she had buried.


Boarding School Survivors

By Simahoyo

(Mara's assistant enlists her to help her grandmother open up about her Indian boarding school abuse Maura uncovers some old emotions she thought she had buried.)

Maura and her assistant Sarah Harjo were working on a routine autopsy. Sarah knew this was the time to learn as much as she could from her boss. Maura stressed with all of the assistants that they were the next generation of Medical Examiners. So each autopsy was a teaching session. But this one was a cinch, so there was an opportunity to stray from the topic at hand.

Sarah wanted to ask for her grandmother. Granny was really special to her, and she thought maybe Maura could relate to her–well, as much as her boss could relate to anyone. You just had to get past her defenses.

"Um, Maura, didn't you go to boarding school?"

"Yes, I did. You're doing a good job on this. Keep checking the arteries. I think I see a nick..."

"Right there. So, with all the blood in the photos of the crime scene, and on his clothes, could I say that he bled out?"

Maura hesitated, then nodded. "I agree. I would check for another cut to a vein nearby. That way you can be sure of the size of the stabbing weapon."

Her voice held a hint. She wanted Sarah to find it herself, and there it was. They both grinned when she located it.

"So, when you went to boarding school, did you have any problems?"

Maura raised her eyebrows, then looked at Sarah carefully.

"She went to Indian Boarding school, didn't she."

"Yes. It was bad, and she doesn't have anyone to talk to. So, I hoped maybe, you would talk to her."

Maura looked a little alarmed. "I'm not so good with living people. I have a terrible bedside manner."

"Well, I think if you mostly listen, she'd be happy to have someone who can identify even a little with her. She's not sick, just haunted, if you know what I mean."

"I'll try. All I can do is make an effort. Is that enough, do you think?"

"It would be great. Thank you."

#######

Granny Harjo was heavyset, like most women of her tribe and age. She had few wrinkles, except around her eyes. Her hair was long, as decreed by custom, and the lack of recent deaths in the family. She sat in the kitchen, drinking coffee, shaking her head at what Sarah had gone and done.

"Sarah, you asked your boss to come here, to my little place, and talk to me about Boarding school. What kind of sense does that make? She went to a boarding school for rich White girls, not poor Indians. I just _doeno_."

"She's nice. You'll like her. She's real good to us at work, and she taught me all kinds of stuff."

"Okay, bring her on over. It should be interesting. They probably had maids. At my school, they were teaching us to _be_ maids."

Sarah smiled, but she knew what the Indian Boarding schools had done to her Granny's generation. They were infamous.

"Sarah, what you cooking?"

"Three Sisters Stew, but I run out of red beans, so I'm using black, and the store _dint_ have squash, so I used pumpkin."

"Sounds real good.."

And it was.

########

Saturday, Granny made sassafras tea with honey, and little bean breads, fried up. She had no idea what this rich White woman would like, but it was what she had. The knock at the door made her a little nervous, but she pushed it out of her mind and got the door.

Sarah's boss was a little bitty thing, wearing high heels to make up for it. She was pretty, but her eyes were real serious. She smiled, and Granny smiled back, opening the door wide.

"Come on in. Do you want to join me in the kitchen?" Country manners demanded that guests be ushered into the kitchen, to be fed, and to relax. The living room was for insurance salesmen.

Granny pointed out a chair, and Dr. Isles sat, but she still looked a little nervous. I"m Mary Harjo, Sarah's Grandma. Would you like some sassafras tea?"

"I'm Maura Isles. Yes, I would like some tea."

They drank tea, and Maura tried the bean bread. It was pretty good.

"Sarah sent you here. She's real worried about some of the stuff I had bothering me about Boarding school. Was your boarding school hard?"

"I was ten when I was sent there. I was the youngest one there. And you?"

"I was eight. They told me right out I couldn't speak Indian. It was English or nothing. They'd _whup_ me if I messed up and spoke Indian."

Maura looked surprised. "I was in France, and although I have spoken French all my life, when I got there, everyone picked on me because they said it was the wrong French. They wouldn't let me speak English, and my Canadian French got me in trouble. I was never physically assaulted, but I cried every night."

"Sounds like we got more in common than I thought. So, The heat never worked right, and it was always cold in our rooms and classrooms.

"It was the same for me. I spent three years shivering all winter long."

"I know why I had to go, but why did you wind up there?"

"I didn't know then, but my parents were trying to protect me. My birth father had enemies, and when they killed my mother, my parents adopted me. They knew about the situation, and tried to keep me hidden, but something happened to scare them and suddenly I was in France. Why did you have to go?"

"The law said that all of us Indians had to go to Indian boarding school to learn to be good little White kids. They cut our hair, treated us like cattle, and took away our language. I get so angry about it. I wish sometimes I would wrap my hands around their necks. But everybody who did that to us is dead."

"It's frustrating. If I ever do have children, they are not attending boarding school."

"Sarah never did. She went to public school her whole life, and she turned out pretty good."

"She's one of my best assistants."

"Don't tell her, cause she'll swell up like you wouldn't believe. Us Creeks have an ego problem. My Daddy used to say we think we're superior to everyone on this or any other planet."

Maura just laughed. Sarah's Grandmother was funny–and sad. This was the first time Maura had revisited her French boarding school. She had surprised herself.

Maura noticed how Mary was looking at her–more into her center, but it didn't make her nervous.

"The older girls...they were real mean to you, huh?"

"Y e s . How did you know?"

"You were younger and smaller than them. Like the littlest chicken, you know–getting pecked by all of them?"

"They told me that my parents couldn't wait to get rid of me, because they couldn't stand me. Since I didn't know why they left me there, I believed those girls."

"I had teachers telling me lies–like Indians are savage, and killed innocent people–all that stupid stuff I found out later was nothing but a bunch of lies. Later, I found old people who told me what really happened. It sure ain't what I learned in school.

"That is too frequently the case. I got my revenge by finishing school in three years. I was more than happy to get out of there. But it left...", Maura shrugged a single shoulder.

"Marks on your soul? That's how it was for me."

"I agree. You expressed it well. I never really talked to anyone about this. So, I guess this was therapeutic for me. I hope talking helped a little."

"It was good. When we hold stuff inside, it eats at us. We get all tore up, and nobody can see the wounds. I feel lighter, and more whole. So, _MVTO_, Thank You."

Maura smiled, feeling much better for her time with this woman.

"_Merci_. Thank you. I have to talk with my parents. We have some old problems to clear up. If you ever want to talk, here is my card.", she wrote on the back, then handed it to Mary.

"This is my home number."

#########

After she left, Maura knew she needed to speak with her parents. But she wanted to run things past Jane first, as a sort of dress rehearsal. She knew how Jane was likely to react. She also didn't want to push her fiery mother too far. She just wasn't up for a fight over this.

Maura called Jane to make sure she was home, then drove over. Her nervousness was less about Jane than the subject. She had seen the people Jane attended High School with, but she had kept silent about...It was complicated.

Jane rang her in, and was waiting with the door open. She grinned at Maura, eyes dancing with mischief.

"What's up, Doc?"

Maura couldn't manage a smile, so Jane quickly went into compassionate listener mode.

"What's wrong, Maur?

Maura couldn't sit still. She fiddled with her handbag, and her hands moved constantly..

"Hey, Maura. You're upset. What..."

"I went and talked to Sarah's grandmother. You know Sarah from my lab."

"Yes. Did she say something that hurt your feelings?"

"No. We talked about boarding school. It turned out that some of our experiences were pretty similar."

"But, you went to a fancy French Boarding school. I read about Indian boarding schools. They were like purgatory. Or maybe Hell."

"I never told you about it because I though you might think I was whining. There are parallels."

"Maur you are not a whiner. You can talk to me. I'm here for you."

Maura smiled, then took a deep breath. "You know I have spoken French all my life. But it was Canadian French, and those girls at my school made fun of it. The teachers made my speak their way, and no one would allow me to speak English. I was ten years old. I felt so alone."

"Couldn't you tell your parents?"

"I didn't know why they had left me there. Now I do know, but I still carry a lot of old baggage from that. I can't hurt them but I need to tell them about it, without hurting them too. How do I... It's complicated."

"I honestly don't get the language thing. I hear you and your mother talk about Anglophone and Francophone, and there seems to some sort of political sense to it, but I can't get a handle on it."

"It's a form of identity. I know you don't speak Italian, but you mother does. Why didn't you ever learn?"

"Because she and Nonna used it to keep secrets from us kids. Tommy tried to figure out what they were saying from a dictionary, but he didn't have the head for it. And I was perfectly happy in English."

"I'm lucky Mom was lonely for her own language. I think I can explain this using cooking."

Jane's eyebrows rose skeptically. "O k a y." Maura's mid-air mind turns sometimes made her dizzy.

"Italian cooking, according to your mother, is divided into your own family, who does it right, and other families, who do it wrong unless they are from the same region."

"That's Ma. Why make sense if you can be frustrating?"

"She has a point. Where is your mother's family from?"

"Campania."

"And your father's?"

"Rome."

"So, there were arguments about recipes in your home?"

"Constantly."

"But the good part was the food?"

"Oh yeah! Two regions at once. _Yumo_, like Rachel Ray says"

"I have two_ languages _at once. And you know how proud you are to be Italian."

Jane nodded.

"I'm proud to be French Canadian. I like to eat _poutin_, spilt pea soup, things the French say are low class."

"Whoa. You mean they tried to make you all snobby and snooty?"

"It didn't take." Maura smiled, showing her dimple.

"Thank God. So, when you came home, what did your mother have to say about the way they changed the way you were speaking?"

"There's still a dent in the ceiling. I had never heard that much Canadian French um, salty language...seen her so angry." Now Maura was using her hands to speak.

"Did you write them when you were at school?"

"Just the polite letters one sends home. Nothing to worry them."

"How did they act when you came home?"

"Other than Mom's little blow up, which I thought was my fault... Relieved. Glad to see me. I could never discuss my experiences with them."

"Know what, Maur, I suspect they figured it out themselves. Your Mom is often preoccupied, but your Dad never misses a thing. If you mention it, I'd bet they have been waiting for you to say something. All I gotta say is, you sure know how to keep a secret. Twenty seven years is quite a record."

"I need to talk to them about it. Would you, please, come with me?" Maura held her hands in front of her, like a little girl asking for a present.

"Natch. Call them."

So she did.

#########

Apparently, only Constance was home. Maura was nervous enough that Jane drove.

When they arrived, Constance was able to answer the door herself. She greeted them with a smile, and led them to the sitting room. When everyone was seated, she looked at Maura, waiting.

Maura opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Maura moved her mouth, but the words wouldn't come. Jane had heard her say there were things she couldn't talk about, but this was for real.

"Maur, what's wrong?"

"Cher, don't worry. I can wait. Just breathe. Is it something bothering you?"

"Yes."

"Nothing about Africa...I hope." Constance's voice held a note of warning.

"No. I promised you I would not go back, and I will not break that promise. It's complicated."

Constance smiled. "Try French."

"But that's what it's about."

Jane was uncomfortable for both of them. She shifted her weight.

"And..."

"When I came home from Boarding school, your noticed how my French had changed."

"Lord yes. I couldn't believe what had happened to your naturalness, and fluency. They had no right to do that to you."

"So you weren't angry with me?"

"How could I be? I had three years with you gone, letters that sounded like someone told you what to write, when you came home you were like a stranger. I missed the old Maura,.my mischief maker, and one we constantly had to ask, 'please get off, out of or down from there'."

"The older girls told me you dumped me there because you didn't want me."

Constance's face registered shock. Now her mouth opened, and no words came. She moved her hands, stood, walked a few paces...

"_Les insensés. Quelle audace pour ce faire à mon enfant !_ If I had only known, you would have been removed from there the same day. Is that why you stayed in your room and read all day?"

Maura nodded.

"I'm calling your father."

Now Maura was trying to make her mother calm down. Her hands kept up a, "Please be seated motion."

"Mom. It was twenty seven years ago. I survived. Please, don't...go all Joan of Arc on me."

"They will never get another penny in donations from me."

Jane was amazed. This was not the Constance Isles she knew–or thought she did. This was more like Angela when someone had hurt one of her kids. Constance Isles, Warrior Mom. Who knew?

Then Constance looked at her daughter, relaxed, and went over to hug her. Maura dissolved in tears. Then both were crying.

"_Je t'aime beaucoup_, Maura."

" _Alors faites-le, Maman_".

Jane wanted to cry too, but her image would really suffer. So, she sneaked a tissue out of her pocket, and dried her eyes super quick, before they noticed.

FIN


End file.
